


woven universe

by JamtheDingus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (later) - Freeform, (yeet-haw), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bad Luck, Cowboys, Fluff and Angst, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hunk (Voltron)-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Semi-graphic violence, courting, not historically accurate, old west au, or like, side ships tba
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamtheDingus/pseuds/JamtheDingus
Summary: Hunk owns a library in his small town, and is happy to spend the rest of his days caring for it. But then Shiro and Keith tornado into his life, those damned cowboys, and Hunk finds himself flipped over. There's something strange about them, though.---Nails sharper than a palmetto leaf tear across his skin in what must have been a gentle touch, but is actually nothing more than searing pain directly to his nerve-endings. He doesn't move, though, because he's absolutely terrified- ashen like a doused fire- and it's that which makes Shiro flinch back and let him go."Don't be scared." Comes the panicked voice around him. It's distorted, deep and high all at once, but it's unmistakably Keith's soft rasp that Hunk hears.Even that doesn't do much to quell the fear taking root in him.---Or, the cowboy/old west AU with a fantastical twist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> possibly eventual smut??? yeehaw
> 
> i know these tags are all over the place but thanks for clickin anyway???? tbh this story doesn't have a 100% planned committed ending yet but it's gonna be a trip for sure. i hope you'll stick w/ me as i finish it up and send it into the internet's abyss
> 
> this fic was completely random even to me, and i'd started writing it like last year? but i want to put myself out there in the fic writing world again, so what better time than now c': 
> 
> hope you enjoy! thanks <3

Freshly laid hay crunches beneath Hunk’s boots as he escapes from the borough streets and summer heat, fanning himself with his wide-brimmed hat. He offers a grin and a quick nod to the other townies as he unlocks the library door.

A bundle of wildflowers is plopped at his feet, and he pauses to bow down low to the little town orphan that loves to pretend she’s royalty. He tucks a few of the fuller flowers behind her ears, and tickles her under the chin before he sends her on her way.

The heat is no better inside than out of his cozy little library, but the heavy rays of the sun don’t scratch across his skin like a hot poker any longer, so it’s still a plus in his book.

Oh! Speaking of books. Hunk hurries to gather the few he’d forgotten to put away the night prior. He sets them in their rightful places with a quick round through the few stacks his business boasted, and dusts a few off the groddier shelves. A quick bandage before he finds his duster later.

He makes his way to the front again and props the heavy door open with an oddly shaped rock he’d found years ago. Then, dusting his hands, he heads towards the back to prepare for the lunchtime rush. That is, the few children sent over by their parent to study and/or to stay out of the way of household business.

The door to his office squeals like a piglet that’s hungry for milk when he pushes it open. It pulls a cringe from him, and he picks at his ear as he flops against his desk, shoving aside old papers for a few fresh sheets.

Expired contracts, old deeds, ripped book pages all fall off the edge to tickle his mud-stained boots; things he’d meant to throw out but never got around to. Oops.

He bends to gather them up with a soft sigh, but a familiar knock interrupts the motion. Two raps with the knuckles, then a palm against the wood grain.

From the doorway, almost shy if not for the imposing figure he cut with his scarred nose and barrel-chest, Shiro waves at him. “Good afternoon.”

He’s got a faint smile on his face, like wisps of something larger that had faded to the edges of his lips, and his eyes shine even in the muted sunlight of the backroom that was Hunk’s office. It took Hunk quite a long while not to get too enraptured with them, when they’d first met. Starlight grey, deeper than the oldest pools of time. If he were an artist, he’d probably never need another muse.

“Afternoon, Shirogane!” Hunk chirps, dusting his hands off once again before ushering him in, hurrying to pull the blinds of the tiny window in the corner. He knew how much Shiro loved whatever privacy he could get. Or, well, he assumed he knew, and Shiro never really refuted. “What can I do for you today? Another letter to write?”

“Just returning the book you lent.”

Shiro steps forward, easing the door shut with his foot enough that no one passing could peak in, but keeping it cracked enough that the noise of the outside muffles. Then, it’s only them two.

Under his arm, Shiro’s carefully nestled the book of maps Hunk had offered him.

“Did it help much?” Hunk takes the offered text with a smile, ever present on his face whenever Shiro is around, and sets it on the desk with as much care and deliberation as Shiro had handed it over.

“Helped plenty.” Shiro sweeps his eyes across the office, mostly out of habit. Never knew what lurked in a dusty corner, after all. Then, with as much of a joking tone as Hunk has come to expect from the cowboy, “Maybe I’ll advance to real books soon.”

“These’re real enough.” Hunk hurries to argue in Shiro’s own defense. “But if you ever want to try a new genre, I’m always here.”

Shiro’s faded smile comes back brighter, and Hunk ducks his head down. “I mean, the entire library is at your disposal. Of course.”

“I’ll remember it.” Shiro says, as he always says when Hunk offers. Then, he repeats back in a cheeky tone, “Of course.”

“‘s what I’m here for.” Hunk murmurs, the subtle shimmy of shy fingers tickling across the back of his neck.

Before the silence can stretch the distance between them, Shiro nods his head and moves to tip his hat with his one hand. “Thanks again.”

He waits for Hunk to dazedly lift his hand in a slow wave before he departs. He leaves behind a trail of red sand on the tiny rug Hunk had stuffed in front of the office door, tracked in from the mountains. But it’s nothing a few shakes outside won’t fix. He’s more focused on the color, really.

Sand that vibrant and pure doesn’t exist in the small world that is his hometown. But Hunk wonders if it’s just as wonderfully magical as his imagination supplies— if it smells like fire and burns like ash, or if it’s something more soothing like the waters of a purifying bath.

Not that he’s yearning for travel— no thank you ma’am. He’s entirely too happy with the comfortable routine he’s built over the years, repetitive and calm, and very much so predictable. It’s not in his blood to hop from place to place or never have a comfy bed his own.

Hunk frowns at himself, then. He has no clue where it is that Shirogane disappears to at night. Whether or not he has a bed to snuggle up in when it’s cold and wet and dreary during a late night desert drizzle.

Would it be too hasty to ask him to stay, someday?

Absolutely.

Hunk plops down at the desk again with a soft sigh, pulling his oil lamp out of the drawer rather than drawing the blinds again. He preferred working by ombre lights, anyway.

 

\---

 

By the drop of night, crows have started pecking at the corners of the roof and mice scratching under the floorboards. Atleast, Hunk chose to believe they were mice.

Shiro hadn’t come back later that day, but Hunk hadn’t much been expecting him to anyway.

He goes through the motions of closing up ‘shop’. He dusts the shelves and pushes the chairs back under their snug little tables, and he subsequently gets frightened to near death when he finds Keith nestled in a corner.

His cut-off, weary yell frightens both the crows and the maybe-mice away, but Keith doesn’t even blink as he looks up from the cookbook in his lap with a muttered, gentle, “Hunk.”

“Keith,” Hunk wheezes, hand over his heart. He’d use a more proper, formal name for the man if he’d been given one, but he settles for what he gets. “You scared the bones outta my body.”

Keith frowns, eyes narrowing half shut as he looks Hunk over— as if a few bones had actually popped out and escaped. After a moment, his expression softens again, and Hunk can only fondly sigh as Keith mumbles a soft, “Pardon.” as apology.

Hunk hooks his sconce on the wall and takes a deep breath to calm his heart. Honestly, he was sure he’d tasted death’s lips moments ago.

“You tryin’ to learn a recipe today?” Hunk asks as he squeezes himself beside his squatter. The wallpaper crinkles behind his back, and he mentally reminds himself to replace it sooner before later.

“No.” Keith says, looking down at the pages. His hands dance across the letters, as if he could pluck every line out if he wanted to and fiddle with them before smoothing them back out to where they belonged. His nails catch at a creased, cat-eared corner, and he thumbs across it with a look that makes Hunk’s gut clench. The feeling reminds him of that one time he’d saw Lance break a bone falling off his roof.

Keith stays silent for so long that Hunk assumes that’s the last he’s going to say until he adds, “The words are smaller here.”

Which is very true, if not a tad cryptic. Most recipes had no need for words over four syllables, which meant less letters for him to trip over, but they were still more competent than most young children’s picture books. When he’d said as much to Keith way back when, he’d taken it without fuss and sat down in the very corner they were near-cuddling in now. He’d poured over it for hours until Hunk had ended up falling asleep in his office.

And, speaking of being a tad cryptic, Hunk had awoken that very next morning with that same book right by the front door, propped up in the perfect angle as to wedge the door shut and keep out stragglers. Hunk had no clue how he’d done it, but Keith had that air about him.

“Need help?”

“This one.” Keith points a grungy finger across the page, squinting at the bold letters. He mouths at the pronunciation, mumbling under his breath until Hunk leans over to see.

“Zucchini.” Hunk nods. “A vegetable. The, uh… long, green one?” He measures the length out with his hands. “I’m sure there’s a picture somewhere around here.”

Keith only grunts, flipping the page. He was more interested in how to say it rather than what it meant.

Hunk buries his smile against his palm, leaning his elbow against a nearby chair leg. He watches Keith trace over the paragraphs fondly, outlined in orange-gold firelight, until he yawns so hard that his jaw cracks.

Neither Keith nor Shirogane knew how to read. Both had come to him, one after the other, to seek out his assistance. He wasn’t sure if they knew the other was coming to him for help, or if they kept it a secret for some reason. But Hunk had put together enough clues to realize they atleast knew of one another.

But, besides that: because neither knew how to read, neither knew how to write. It’s Shirogane that asked him for help with that dilemma, which is how Hunk had taken to writing his letters once in a blue moon, usually while Shiro is skipping through the dictionary like a grade-schooler at lunch time. Really, he didn’t need much help, but Hunk wasn’t about to cut their sessions short, if only to be a bit selfish.

But Hunk was also too nosy not to be curious about the entire spectacle.

“Why’re you tryin’ to learn?” He’d asked Shiro, once. He hadn’t meant it to be rude, but Shiro had winced anyway as he smoothed the crisp collar of his shirt.

He’d gotten that cryptic look on his face he sometimes gets when he’s remembering his past, shrouded in storm clouds that darken his eyes. The kind of look where one side of his mouth dips lower than the other, and his jaw clenched tight. It made his scar stand out a bit more as it scrunched around the bridge.

Shiro had only shrugged a shoulder, though, and mumbled an excuse Hunk couldn’t remember anymore.

When he’d asked Keith, though, Keith looked at him like he was a striped chicken riding a blank cow.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He’d asked in return. “This is the first chance I’ve gotten in a while.”

Maybe he was speaking for the both of them back then, now that Hunk was thinking of it.

It’s on the tip of his tongue, now, to ask about Shirogane. Surely two fastmare riding cattlemen who came into town within three days of one another had to know each other, right? Atleast heard the rumors or otherwise. Hunk’s gut was only rarely wrong about these things.

He doesn’t ask, in the end. He just sits to help Keith pronounce words that have no business being as complicated as they are, cookbook or no.

He huffs as much as he leans over to squint down at one such word in the dark, and it’s that which urges the softest chuckle out of Keith’s lungs and into the static library air.

Hunk feels his heart buckle at the gentle sound, like the first flutters of a baby bird wing. He wants to hear more of it, soft and sweet and— he may be falling too deep too fast.

 

\---

 

Hunk never went home that night. It’s not a rare occurrence, but it must have happened enough times in a row that his neighbor, best friend, and general troublemaker comes looking for him.

Lance saunters into the library much like a rooster knocked off its perch, _before_ it can bellow out its morning glories, would stalk up to a farm and bite them on the big toe. He slips his way through the shelves, finds Hunk nestled between a globe and a dusty corner, and drops a bag of horse feed at his feet with a sharp bark of, “Rise ‘n shine!”

Hunk doesn’t even get out his shout of surprise fully before Lance has turned heel to open the library doors. The troublemaker.

Hunk gathers his wits as he rubs sleep from his eye and dodges the morning rays that threaten to blind him. He rakes his hair back into a messy bun as he slides his knees under himself, shaking the rest of the tired off with a quick stretch of his arms behind his head.

It’s getting longer now that summer is ending, and with the length comes the coiling curls his hair likes to form. He’s much too busy to be bothered with actual styling, though, so he allows himself to settle for keeping it back and giving it a nice, relaxing, comb-through the next time he finds a water bucket to shower with.

Hunk beams bright despite the rude awakening as he passes Lance, and claps invisible dust off his hands before he gets his day started.

Lance comes to watch him sweep off the front step of the library a few minutes later. When he’s least expecting it, Lance murmurs, “You fuckin’ someone?”

“Lance!” Hunk squeaks, much louder than he means. Those that litter the streets glance over at the commotion, but Hunk rushes back inside before they can stick into his business (as he would surely have, if the positions were mirrored). “What on Earth are you spoutin’ today?”

“You’ve got that walk!” Lance huffs in defense, arms crossing. “And you keep doin’ that thing— brushin’ your hair behind your ear.”

“It’s _long_.” Hunk stutters, though he does catch himself reaching up to tuck it again. “And I’m not… _fuckin_ ’ anyone.”

“Hmph.” Lance hmphs.

“Haven’t in years. You _know_ that.”

“Wouldn’t know, what with ya never comin’ home at decent times, if ever.” Lance lifts his nose in the air, offended like a prissy kitty cat.

“What, you wanna hear my canoodlin’?” Those walls are thinner than your chest hair.” And then, when Lance lets out an embarrassed yelp as he covers his chest, Hunk gives a snicker and punctuates with, “Just teasin’.”

Lance throws a nearby doily at him anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk gets wooed, a whole two times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo woo

\---

 

And, like a revolution, it repeats.

 

\---

 

Shiro visits him again on a Wednesday. He doesn’t have a book to return this time. When Hunk gives him a curious look over the heads of a few children who need help with their words, Shiro only shrugs his one full shoulder and leans against a bookcase, casual as a dandelion in spring.

Hunk feels himself heat around the collar, until he has to subtly readjust it so that he doesn’t drown in his sweat. He blames it on the summer air, though the easy gaze being laid upon him _is_ quite rushing.

When the kids finish and run to play with their horse-hair dolls, wood swords, and daisy chains, Hunk hesitates to brush his pants clean, just to grant himself a few more moments of composure.

He can feel Shiro stare at his head— stare right through the skull and into the flowery, powdery thoughts hidden deep inside— and when he turns to look him in the eye, he realizes the heat he’s sweltering in comes directly from Shirogane’s look on him.

He’s made himself comfortable where he stands, that Shiro, with his only hand resting against his gun holster and feet crossing at the ankles. The spurs jingle every so often, when children brush too close on by or as he adjusts and readjusts the longer Hunk stares. He’s not threatening the slightest, even what with Hunk’s nerves around firearms.

Hunk doesn’t get the further chance to drink his fill before another someone is calling his attention to look for a specific title.

Hunk is distracted in that manner for nearly an hour— pulled this way to accept late returns with a small and pulled that way to help a newlywed learn to sew where they shyly sit in a corner, all while trying to ignore the fire on his neck whenever he catches glimpses of his cowboy.

Every time Hunk happens to glance his way, without fail, Shiro is still gazing upon him like a man seeing his first moon.

Hunk manages to spill the pages of one book that’s long past its lifespan when Shiro finally pushes away from his perch to saunter over.

They don’t say much to one another— mostly just Hunk mumbling a soft apology for the long wait as Shiro stoops down to help— but Hunk’s been around enough books to learn to read between some lines.

When they finish, and Hunk has stuffed the book somewhere out of mind, Shiro places a careful touch to his shoulder and brushes a few stray strands of hair back in place.

“It’s getting long.” Shirogane says, almost amused by the thought of it. “Was much shorter when we first met.”

“I… haven’t had time to cut it.” Hunk fumbles, fingers skipping along his cheek to brush said locks behind his ear. “Sorry if it’s, uh…”

Shiro gentles as Hunk fumbles through his brain for the right adjective, completely content with staring at the blushing librarian ‘til he bursts, probably.

“...Unsightly?”

Hunk fiddles with himself, embarrassed. He feels like he’s gone on a date with the man, only to find out he’s drastically underdressed. Or, perhaps, tragically overdressed.

Shiro’s eyes flit back and forth between either of Hunk’s as he studies him, and Hunk very nearly _does_ combust on the spot when he gives him the softest smile and says, “Never could be, on you.”

 

\---

 

And it is Keith, of course, that visits next.

Two days after Shiro has gone, sporting a fresh wound on his gut and an angry look on his face.

He knocks on the door in the dead of night, and he’s so incredibly lucky that Hunk hadn’t wandered home earlier that evening as he should have. But he’s been doing that a lot more these days, staying in his tiny little one-horse library, just in case of times like this.

Instead of having pleasant dreams, stuffed beneath knitted throws that do a marvelous job of staving off the chill, Hunk finds himself nervously chewing his nails as Keith stews his problems over and paces the library like a beast caught trying to protect its kill.

He winces every few steps, but refuses to sit. Even when Hunk sets down a bowl of warm soup— made only with carrots, potatoes, and broth because Hunk had nothing else on hand, not even seasonings— Keith only grits his teeth and silently snarls like a wolf in a trap. Or a threatened dog, but it felt rude to compare him to that.

Hunk crosses his arms and leans against the round table he’d chosen to seat them at. Keith’s bootsteps against the wooden planks start to lull him up up and away, as clunky and off-beat as they are as they echo through the packed dirt beneath the library foundation.

He’s startled back awake when the chair across squeals against the floor and Keith finally plops down to eat.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Keith says, too quickly. His frown turns up, but he doesn’t try to take it back so Hunk leaves it alone.

Hunk keeps his eyes forced open, shooing away the sleep fairies that keep trying to claim him, and offers Keith a smile whenever he’s glanced at past the chunky soup. “Sorry I didn’t have nothin’ better for you.” He offers, absently gesturing in the general direction of his home. “Hardly cooked a good meal in ages.”

Keith’s chewing slows to something more thoughtful, as if he’s tasting for the very first time, but his expression is still as vague and cryptic as ever in the sconce’s candlelight that sits nearly fifteen feet away from them.

“‘s good.” Keith decides, staring a hole into the chipped bowl Hunk had scrounged up. “Thanks.”

“Of course!” Hunk beams, happier than the scene requires him to be. “My pleasure.”

This is one of the rare times that Keith leaves before Hunk falls asleep, but only barely. He snaps Hunk out of his half-asleep delirium when he finishes his bowl and has licked it clean. The candle has gone halfway down, even being that Hunk had put a fresh one in as soon as Keith had arrived, but those things burn quick anyway.

Hunk walks him to the door, grabbing a shawl to stuff around Keith’s shoulders before the other can argue and shove it back. “I’d hate for you to get sick. How can I help you pronounce your vegetables if you get all stuffy?”

Cicada rattle in the distance, rolling up the background noise that dips in and out of Hunk’s ears as he watches Keith in the dark starlight. Keith hugs the scarf close to himself, burying his nose in the softness of it like it’s the most luxurious thing in the world. It probably smells of old dust and Hunk, but it’s far too late to wash it and get it dry before Keith disappears in the night air, as always.

When Keith looks at Hunk again, his eyes are no longer so harshly squinted. In fact, he looks at peace with all things— and maybe it’s the lighting or maybe it’s just Keith— but it leaves Hunk melted all the same. He watches him go, walking off easy, away from the moon.

Keith ends up disappearing in the shadows even before he turns a corner, a whisper of wind across the mountain ranges. Hunk is left only with the memory of that half-smile he hid under the soft shawl.

And, like he said, it was a good thing he knew how to read between the lines.

 

\---

 

And, last but certainly not least to complete the cycle, Lance wanders in at the end of the week. When Hunk is restocking and organizing the shelves, he drops another bag of horse feed in a corner, kicks his legs up on a desk and crosses his arms, and says, “Hunk.”

Nothing further.

When Hunk glances at him past the stack of books piled high under his nose and gets nothing in reply, he good-naturedly rolls his eyes and, in the exact same tone, responds, “Lance.”

They have a standoff which is really nothing more than Lance glaring at Hunk’s back for nearly five minutes. Then, when the internal clock has ticked, Lance gets exasperate and throws his hands up in the air. “You never listen!”

“You didn’t say anything!”

Lance opens his mouth to retort, probably with a quip about Hunk’s existing-nonexistent love life once more, when he is interrupted with a very familiar, very polite knock on the doorframe.

Hunk reflexively turns, his usual spiel of ‘Welcome, how may I help you this fine day’ ready on his lips, but it’s chased away by the wind and gobbled up by his heart as it leaps into his throat to continue its rhythm there.

Keith stands at the doorway, an absolute surprise in every way because it isn’t night, but partly because of the delicate bundle in his gloved hand. Delicate flowers— maybe five or six stems topped with thick layers of silken petals, each a different shade than the last all the way around. If there was ever need of proof that rainbows could be caught, those flowers are all anyone would need.

Keith is dressed to the nines and sixes, whichever came off best. His hair is brushed high in a loose ponytail, off his neck that is revealed in his collared shirt. His trousers are leather— a contrast to his usual, comfortable pair he usually wore (wool, always, no matter the weather), and his boots are shining and twinkling bright.

When he steps in, his face is flushed. But he looks Hunk right in the eye as he offers the bouquet with a soft, “Here.”

Hunk startles, dropping a book or two right on his foot as he hurries to slide them out of the picture. When Lance snickers in the background, Keith grows even redder as Hunk hurries to shut him up.

“These’re mine?”

“For you.” Keith confirms.

The tips of his fingers are rough as they brush against Hunk’s when he carefully hands them off, but Hunk’s aren’t taken care of any better, so it isn’t much of an issue in his book.

Ha, book.

He brings the flowers to his nose, half to hide the love-silly grin he knows that’s stolen his expression full over. They hardly have a scent— probably just for show than anything— but there’s an earth tinge just in the background, muted like when Hunk can hear a party going on down the borough through the night while he balances his books.

“Thank you, Keith.” Hunk breathes, eyes wide as he fingers the cloud soft flower-tops against his palm. “These are awful lovely.”

Keith grunts his acknowledgement, eyes darting to the still present, ever-nosy Lance. Which— didn’t Lance know that was _Hunk’s_ job??

“Pardon me a moment?”

On his way to grab a vase, Hunk bodily grips Lance by his skinny little arm and drags him to the back. He knows he must look as out of element as he feels, because Lance doesn’t immediately tease and jaunt, and instead placatingly lifts both his hands and pretends to be busy studying the ancient, out of date map on the wall that Hunk never remembers to switch out in his free time.

Hunk takes the interlude to calm his heart, which is near starting a fire against his ribcage.

“Y’know, I think I hear a Pidgeon calling for me.” Lance says, after a few minutes of nothing. His grin is wolfish, gleeful at the thought of finally having palpable dirt on Hunk to gossip about after all these years, instead of the other way around. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Lance is out of the office before Hunk can think of something to say, a true testament to just how flustered Hunk is.

Keith is taking his place, not two minutes after.

“Your friend said you were about to collapse.” Keith says, no small amount of worry evident in his voice. “You want I should go get someone?”

He nervously hovers in the doorway, not unlike a hummingbird over honeysuckle, and it fills Hunk with the most adoring feeling, straight in his gut. It warms him all the way down to his toes and back up again, and it, for some strange reason, makes him feel like the prettiest person in the country.

“I’m fine. Just… surprised. I guess.” He spreads the flowers in their new home, reaching for the pitcher of water he keeps on his desk to give them a drink. “Wasn’t expectin’ this from you.”

Keith frowns. His expression darks a tad, and Hunk’s known him just long enough to realize it isn’t irritation that swirls in his irises, but disappointment. “I can leave, if you’d like. “Didn’t mean discomfort.”

“No discomfort caused.” Hunk rubs his sweaty palms on his pants and stands up straighter. “I appreciate them an immense amount, actually. Can’t even imagine where you got somethin’ like these. Thank you, Keith.”

Keith hovers again, nervous all over again. If he were able, he’d probably be buzzing louder than a wasp in a half-destroyed nest. Anxious.

He steps forward— not exactly in Hunk’s space— and holds both his hands out to gather Hunk’s, pressing a kiss against one of his palms.

It pulls a soft giggle from Hunk, half because Keith’s gloves tickle his skin, but mostly because this feels like a sudden fairytale. Keith flushes in response, pretty and pink, and he soon after leaves with a gentle incline of his head and a soft grunt as he mounts his horse and kicks off.

This time, he disappears in a cloud of dust and behind a lone wagon, sitting way off in the distance of town. Hunk stares after, until the dust has settled again, and he knows the smile doesn’t leave his face until long after the sun sets that day, all the while remembering rough-and-tough fingertips.

 

\---

 

Sometime when the heat lifts to something more bearable, signifying the beginning of autumn’s kiss that soothes the summer’s burn across the hemisphere, Shiro comes to visit.

It’s a slow day— a Sunday, which is always slow— and Shiro seems to know this because he fits his fingers between Hunk’s, pressing their palms together, and asks him to spend the day together.

Hunk doesn’t know how he lets these cowboys startle him so much with just words, but the offer does nonetheless. He sets down the duster he was using the clear the podiums full of dictionaries and thesauruses, scratching at the stubble he’d meant to shave that morning. “Now?”

“If that’s alright with you.” Shiro affirms. His eyes, grey like the stars, sparkle in morning light. Playful, if Hunk squints. “I’ve hardly spent a moment with you, even when you help with my letters.”

“I’d’ve thought you’d be gettin’ tired of me by now.” Hunk laughs, shy. “But I don’t have anythin’ planned. Wouldn’t mind spendin’ the day with you a bit, regardless.”

And so off Shiro sweeps him. They don’t head anywhere special, really. Shiro admits he hadn’t planned this far ahead in his mind, when they’ve edged outside of the city-street and glanced out in the wide expanse of land before them. It’s something so uncharacteristic of him, that steady ready cowboy, that Hunk is oddly flattered.

So, with no prior commitments needing his attention and none so important that could ever pop up to call him away from this, Hunk leads Shiro to a small pasture off north.

It was one of the lowest points in the valley, always dewy as if the sun never reached deep enough to turn the water to mist. The biggest plus of the place was that cows never wandered up far enough to leave any cow-pies to worry about.

So, perfect for lazing about, in Hunk’s book. He’d thought ahead enough to snatch a gingham blanket for them to sit upon, instead of getting their pants all soaked with the aforementioned dew, but he bemoans not having thought to bring lunch.

“We coulda had a full-on picnic!”

Shiro sits beside Hunk, the latter flopping to the ground like a fussy, boneless babe. He watches him for a tender moment, long eyelashes glittering in the light.

Hunk didn’t know he’d ever be enamored by eyelashes of all things on a human person, but here he is.

“I’ll give you more warning next time.” Shiro hums, contemplative, as he crosses his legs. “If you’d like.”

Butterflies begin to dance over their heads, brilliant orange as if they’d been painted by dandelion tufts that had been dipped in the deepest vat of gold paints. It doesn’t distract Hunk, per se, but the colors catch his eye enough that he misses the longing look Shiro offers him in the moment.

He mulls over the words, obviously teasing as he taps his chin, and Shiro bashfully brushes a few blades of grass from their shared space as he waits. He takes the brief respite to get comfortable, unstrapping his holster to toss it out of the way. A gust of wind sends shivers through his bones, and he hurries to pull the scarf from around his neck to instead cover his nose, which has started to redden from the cool.

“I’d like that, Shirogane.” Hunk says, eventually. His fingers skitter across the blanket as he purposefully looks off in the distance. A last means of defense, just in case of sudden rejection. As if it were possible.

Shiro’s hand covers his, not quite bigger than Hunk’s own but marginally more confident as he slides himself closer until they’re hip to hip.

They sit out there in the valley for longer than they probably should— long enough that the sun disappears behind the high mountains and bathes them in shadows even though it’s nearer to noon than midnight— all the while doing nothing more than talking.

And, after it all, Hunk doesn’t even remember what it is that they say. But, when he falls asleep and dreams of starlight eyes, he remembers intensely the way his heart swells and his cheeks ache with how much he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i went a little wild with the accents,,,,,,,, fight me,,,,,, its only gonna get worse 💋 *wink*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk is in the middle of a moral dilemma when Shiro and Keith come to proposition him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it really has been like ten years since i updated this, im so sorry aaaa
> 
> finishing up this chapter, tho, is exactly what i needed to get back on my writing horse. hope y'all enjoy!! 
> 
> also TIME SKIP YEET

Snow weighs heavy on Hunk's roof, but it's packed enough against the wood that the heat from the fireplace stays swirling about, keeping him nice and toasty. The logs he'd stuffed it full of burn bright, bathing him in the soft light and the comfortable warmth.

Winter wasn't hitting their town very hard this year, thank heavens. Instead of the usual holiday arguing, he'd noticed the townsfolk actually laughing and singing this year, joyful for their bountiful fall harvests.

Hunk, even, is rewarding himself with a nice mug of hot cocoa in the biggest one he owned. It warms him through the wool gloves he wears— a gift from Keith. They match his own exponentially, fingerless and all, except Hunk's pair is a mix of grayish white, rather than Keith's leathery black.

When he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, the pretty blanket nestled in his lap hardly shifts with him, it's so thick. A gift from Shiro, actually.

It leaves him giddy to know he's surrounded by warm not only from a fire, but by two beaus of his own.

Even though the fact that he _has_ two suitors has been a source of anxiety for him recently. Was it unfair that they've both shown interest— and he's turned away neither? It was, probably, which was the biggest issue of it all. But he hadn't the faintest what to do.

If he were being truly honest with himself, he enjoyed their attention too much— enjoyed the company even more. Learning the private history of them both was the highest point of his life so far, and he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he were suddenly cut off.

But that wasn't fair, to string them along just because he wanted to know about their mysterious ways. Even if he did truly care about them both.

With a dramatic sigh, Hunk stands. He keeps the blanket tucked around his shoulders, though, careful not to let the wool catch against the yarn.

Almost as soon as he does, there's a faint saunter of hooves crunching across snow and a brief knock to his door.

When he opens it, who is it but Shiro and Keith; huddled underneath his awning. Neither appropriately dressed for the weather. Shiro's hat is stacked high with icy snow, and a few snowflakes fall around him in circles— as if he were Jack Frost himself.

Hunk snickers at the thought, all the while ushering them in. "What happens to bring you two over this way?"

"Your library was closed." Keith carefully steps into the corner, out of the way. The scarf wrapped around his neck lined his shoulders thickly, and would have dwarfed him if not for how tall he was getting. Soon he'd overtake Shiro in height, Hunk believed.

Hunk takes Shiro's hat, dusting it off on the porch before he neatly sets it back atop Shiro's head for him. "I didn't even know the two of y'all knew each other."

Shiro's eyebrows furrow, troubled by just that short sentence even as he graciously dips down low to accept his hat back. "Didn't you? I must've brought Keith up before."

"Not by name, but that's just fine." Hunk laughs, inviting them further into his home, which feels especially small with three people in it, and prepares to fix them both a cup of cocoa. "I had a feelin' you'd've known each other, though. I shouldn't be surprised none."

Keith awkwardly loiters near the couch, but Hunk quickly fixes that as he waits for the milk to warm.

He presses both his hands to Keith's shoulders, atop the scarf that goes around and around and around his neck, and gently urges him to sit on the cushions.

When Hunk turns to Shiro with the same determined look, Shiro quickly follows by example and very primly sits beside Keith.

The two both catch eyes, one pair helpless and the other amused, just as Hunk turns away.

"We came to ask you something." Shiro says, just as Hunk puts the final touches on the tasty drinks.

"Oh?" For added taste, he cuts a small piece of chocolate in half and plops each into their drinks before hauling them over. "How can I help you?"

"Come with us." It's Keith that speaks, but Hunk swears he can hear the both of them sending the thought directly to his brain— the intent is so strong. They're watching him keenly, backlit by the flames of his hearth, and Hunk feels small in the moment.

Not in a bad way, no, but so entirely tiny in comparison to the two.

It takes Hunk by an immense amount of surprise when his voice doesn't tremble as he whispers, "Where?" as soft as can be.

"On a trip. Wherever you'd like, if it matters." Keith starts the sentence, and Shiro picks up the thought without pause, as if they shared the same tongue, with, "We missed you while you were away."

While they were off herding cattle for coin, that is. Right before the first snow had started to stick to the roads. Hunk hadn't been expecting the empty void that took up the space in his gut that they'd left him with.

Already, it's filled to the brim with them just sitting on his couch. Is it strange that he's feeling all tingly? Like cold, frostbitten fingers finally starting to thaw.

He wants to say, "I missed you, too," but he finds himself nervously focusing on the first half of the sentence. Instead, he says, "For how long would I— we— be gone?"

"Two weeks? More, if the weather stays ornery."

The first thing Hunk thinks of is the library. It'll be standing tall even with him away, so he isn't _too_ worried about it. Worse comes to worse, he can finagle Lance to watching over it, or just keep it closed for the holiday.

The second thing he thinks of is his horse. She's an old, tired thing. With a mane colored and shaped like sunlight, heavy footsteps, a strong back. But she was _old_ nonetheless. He loves her so, his Sundrop, but she might be too frail to survive a two-week long journey, or longer.

And the third, and final, thing he thinks of is himself. A trip, alone, with two men whom he has the most intense of... _feelings_ for. He's read of polygamy before, of course. With a library full of everything that so rarely got checked out, Hunk had taken to reading the more interesting titles on his spare time.

Would they want that? Would they be willing— or is he assuming too much of their feelings?

He doesn't mean to wearily sigh, so stuck in his head as he was, but it obviously takes them aback. Keith's scowl is loud enough to speak an entire book's worth, and Shiro carefully places that mask on his face— neutral and uncaring.

"Could I just... have a little time? 'fore I give my answer?" Hunk doesn't look them in the eye— turns away completely actually, under the guise of swirling melted marshmallow around lukewarm cocoa.

He hears them shift on the couch. The sound of their spurs turning and jingling makes his anxiety spike and urge a wave of nausea through his gut, even though he _knows_ they'd never do a thing to hurt him. How he's so sure, he _isn't_ sure, but it's truer than true.

It's only when he can't take the noisy coiling of his tummy any longer that he turns back to them.

They both have introspective frowns on their faces. He isn't sure if it's a good expression, but they turn and not at each other— and just how long have they been together, anyway, to be so in tune without the need for words?— before they stand and politely offer Hunk back the drinks he'd made. Untouched.

"We understand." Shiro says. He ushers Keith towards the door, and Hunk hurries to follow after them. "I'll return my book next time we come to town, if that's alright."

"Oh!" Hunk struggles to remember which Shiro had borrowed. A book of poems. "Of course. There's no rush."

Shiro smiles at him, reaching forward to press a gentle touch to his arm before he backs off again. "Thank you."

They mount their horses— both dark enough to be invisible in the black of night if not for the dying lamp Hunk has hanging from his window. They're matching in color, but wildly different in temperaments. It's apparent enough even to a novice rider such as Hunk, but they calm as his... friends... circle around to take their leave.

Hunk clings to the door frame, taking slow, deep breaths in his nose to quell the panic taking root in his stomach.

They saunter down the path, brick inlaid in compacted mud, and the snow begins to separate Hunk from Shiro and Keith almost immediately as it falls heavier and heavier with each second that passes.

Keith turns to look back at him, dark eyes cutting clear through snowdrops. He smiles, as rare as it is small, but it's meaningful and more calming than chamomile.

Hunk has the feeling that if they walk away now, he'll never see them again.

He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts in the quiet enough, "You'd better wait for my answer before ya decide to head off without me!"

Keith smiles, hiding it behind his length of a scarf, and that is enough. Shiro tips his head, and Keith raises his hand in a goodbye— both actions so meaningful and more calming than chamomile.

Hunk feels infinitely less guilty as they disappear into the night.

 

\---

 

When Hunk regales the tale, omitting not a single detail, Pidge takes off her goggles, carefully folding them before she sets them on the desk in front of her. Then, she mumbles something under her breath that is definitely not complimentary before she hisses, " _Go._ "

"Pidge! I told ya why I shouldn't." Hunk nervously wrings his hands against his front, hunching his shoulders down low from where he sits on her bed. "... Should I?"

Pidge makes that face she makes when a project of hers is getting on her nerves. "Yes."

She wipes sweat from her brow, setting her latest hobby— intricate glass blowing— up and away before she turns on her stool and soundly slaps him on the thigh. "I get the horse thing. But you and I _both_ know Sundrop loves it when you take her out to ride. Just ask your beaus to go slow— take breaks. Whichever."

"The rest are Plain Jane excuses." Lance hums from behind, nestled against Pidge's sheets as if he owned them.

The three were gathered in Pidge's workshop— which _should_ have been her bedroom, but she eats, drinks, sleeps with her projects. The perfect scenery for Hunk to hide in after the prior event, like a startled deer surviving a shotgun aimed at it.

"They're not Plain Jane." Hunk mumbles, weakly.

Lance's lips straighten and thin, the telltale sign he's about to rant Hunk's ear off, but Pidge gets there first. "Ya asked our opinion. Mine is: Go. Forget the rest, 'n just enjoy yourself."

Then, in a fashion unlike her when Hunk has worried her ear off, she bops him on the nose. "Don't forget ya got friends supportin' ya."

As in, they'll take care of the rest.

Hunk flops down on the floor, carefully because of all the knick-knacks Pidge has gathered against every wooden panel. "You're right." He sighs.

Lance mumbles something under his breath, at which Pidge snickers. Hunk ignores them to sit up straight again and huff, "You're right! There's no need to be so nervous."

"Aye!" Lance whoops, pumping his fist in the air. "Not get out there 'n explore!" He half climbs off the bed, just to nudge Hunk with his elbow with an over-exaggerated wink. "If y'get what I'm sayin'."

Hunk grows shy all at once, curling in on himself again at that. "Y'don't think that's what they're after, do ya?"

Pidge glowers at Lance, who tucks his tail between his legs and goes back to playing cat's cradle by himself. "No, Hunk. I don't even know 'em 'n I know it ain't like that."

She twists herself in her seat, back to her project, and Hunk knows that's the last he's getting out of her. The advice she'd given, though, was perfect for lightening the load on his heart, and his hands feel more steady than they were not an hour prior.

Plus, Pidge was the smartest person he knew. Taking her advice is probably wouldn't hurt him none.

And, besides that, he _was_ excited to see what his boys had in store for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance knows where its at tbh
> 
> NEXT CHAP IS WHERE SHIT GETS MAGICAL (but just Slightly)

**Author's Note:**

> seriously tho.... eventual smut??? probably????


End file.
